Fool Me Once Read online

  Chase glanced at the tan-and-brown monogrammed suitcases. “Some French dude’s, I think. Don’t know for sure. Dani buys most of my stuff for me.” He set them down beside me. “I hate shopping almost as much as you do.”

  “Thanks for the suitcases.” I reached for them, but he lifted his hand.

  “I’ve been working on a couple new songs for my next album.” He wandered toward his old guitar. “Want to hear what I’ve got so far?”

  My throat knotted before I shook my head. I used to love listening to Chase sing and strum chords on his guitar, but that was a lifetime ago. There was no room for the past in the present.

  “You’re going to be singing for the next six months. You better save your voice when you can.” I reached for the cases again but didn’t make it far.

  “You want to watch a movie?” Chase asked, padding toward the giant flat screen attached to the wall across from the sofa.

  My forehead creased. “A movie?”

  “Yeah. One of those things we watch for entertainment’s sake, beginning, middle, and end. All different genres.” He snapped his fingers as he opened a cabinet containing rows of DVDs. “Speaking of . . . what are you in the mood for?”

  “It’s almost eleven o’clock,” I said.

  “We don’t have a curfew anymore. We can stay up as late as we want now,” he whispered like he was telling me a secret.

  “We have to be ready to leave at six in the morning. Or else Dani will probably throw a bucket of cold water on us and drag us out by our ears.”

  Chase’s head tipped back and forth as though he were in agreement. “I never sleep the night before a tour kicks off. I don’t even try anymore. I usually wind up watching movies on my own all night, but a partner in crime would be a welcome change.” When he noticed me stalling, working it out on my lip, he added, “I’ve got a stockpile of snacks and drinks. And pretty much any movie you can name.”

  My better judgment had a different answer than the one I gave him. “Okay.”

  For a moment, he looked surprised, but not for long. “What do you want to drink?” he asked, backing toward the kitchenette.

  “What are you having?”

  “What do I want to have or what am I actually going to drink?” he asked.

  “Eh, both?”

  He swung open the mini-fridge door. “I’m having a sparkling water with lime.” He shook the glass bottle of Perrier at me. “What I’d nearly, at this point, kill to have is a cherry Coke with extra cherries.”

  My mouth tugged at the corners. “You still drink cherry Coke?”

  He blinked at me, feigning offense. “The way you said that leads me to the conclusion you think cherry Coke is a taste someone should outgrow.”

  “Yet here you are, all grown up and drinking a sparkling water instead,” I teased as he poured the bottle over a glass of ice. “I’ll have the same.”

  “You don’t have to just because I am. I don’t need your pity.”

  I wandered toward the couch, admiring the view of his back. “Fine. I’ll take a cherry Coke with extra cherries.”

  “Sparkling water it is.” Even as he said it, he retrieved a can of cola from the fridge, digging the jar of maraschino cherries out right after.

  “I haven’t seen you have a single drink. Alcohol on the non-approved list of diet foods?” I asked, scanning the fridge for contents other than water and soda. None could be found.

  Chase froze in the middle of slicing his lime, the muscles tensing in his shoulders. When he glanced back at me, everything seemed to relax. “I gave that up a year ago,” he said. Slowly. “When I drove my truck into a parked minivan after drinking enough whiskey to get six men my size good and drunk. Getting hauled away in the back of a police car and seeing my old man reflecting back when I looked in the mirror scared me straight.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I, like every other non-hermit in the country, had heard the news splashed across the tabloids when Chase got arrested for drunk driving last year. Part of me had been surprised, knowing how much abuse he’d taken from his drunk of a father. Part of me had tried to convince myself I didn’t care.

  “You never drank back home,” I said, tucking my leg beneath me as I sat on the couch.

  “That changed when I left.”

  “The pressures of fame and fortune drove you to drink?” I guessed.

  He dropped a handful of cherries into my cola. “No,” he said, his head lowering. “But my regrets did.”

  My eyebrows knitted together. “Regrets like what? Waving goodbye to that run-down doublewide?”

  Chase turned around, coming toward me. Handing me my Coke, his fingers lingered when mine wrapped around the glass. “Leaving you.”

  A tingle wound down my spine. “You don’t have to say that in some kind of attempt to apologize. I moved on. I get it. I mean, look at you. You made it.”

  He came around the front of the couch, staring at the space beside me as though he were unsure if he could sit there. “No amount of fame was worth the cost of losing you.”

  “You say that now, but you didn’t feel that way eleven years ago.”

  Instead of sitting, he went to grab the remote. “Part of me knew I’d drag you down with me if I stayed. I knew you deserved more than some dumbshit with a messed up past and questionable future. I saw an easy way out, and I took it.”

  Talking about this was ripping open old scars. Wounds I thought had healed years ago. “You were a coward.”

  Chase’s head shook once. “Letting you go was the bravest thing I’ve ever done.”

  My gaze wandered toward the door, my mind warning me it was time to leave. My heart was telling me something else entirety.

  “I thought we were going to watch a movie,” I said, patting the empty half of the sofa.

  Chase crashed beside me without stalling. He punched the remote to turn on the television. “What are you in the mood for?”

  “After that heavy moment?” I clinked my glass to his. “A comedy.”

  “Perfect. I still have Tommy Boy in the player.” He took a drink of his sparkling water, eyeing my Coke jealously.

  I held it toward him, shaking it gently so the ice clinked against the glass. “I won’t tell.”

  Chase didn’t pause when he took my glass, taking a long drink. When he finished, he gave a satisfied groan. “This, right here, is a perfect night.”

  His arm bent behind my back as the movie played.

  5

  I woke slowly, then with a start.

  Crap. I’d fallen asleep.

  Late at night.

  In Chase’s bedroom.

  My head whipped around, but he was nowhere in sight. The end credits were playing to Black Sheep, the second movie he’d popped in and the one I’d fallen asleep during.

  “Hey, you’re awake.” His voice rumbled behind me.

  When I spun around on the couch, my eyes bulged. “Hey, you’re naked.” My eyes clamped shut for a moment before opening. Closed. Open.

  “I’m wearing a towel. Not the definition of naked.” Chase gave me a funny look, pointing at the plush white towel cinched at his waist.

  “But you’re naked beneath it,” I argued, wondering why my voice was so high. Must have been the combination of sugary beverage and sleep deprivation.

  “Are you okay, Em?”

  “I will be when you put some clothes on.” My voice managed another octave higher. “And why did you take a shower while I was asleep?”

  “Do you want me to answer that how I should? Or why I actually took one?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “You already know my answer.” I blinked, trying to clear the sleep from my eyes.

  Chase’s mouth clamped shut right after it opened.

  “Just spit it out,” I said.

  “I’m trying to think of a better way to put it, but I’m coming up empty in the options department.”

  “Since when did you feel like you needed to censor yoursel
f around me?” I asked, wincing when I felt my leg tingling from having fallen asleep.

  His expression read what the hell as he took a breath. “A shower was a better alternative than nursing a hard-on all night with you curled up beside me.”

  My eyes inadvertently dipped south of his towel line, while my mind grappled to restart. “Chase . . .”

  “Sorry if that offends your delicate sensibilities, princess”—he smirked when I narrowed my eyes at him—“but that’s the truth. It’s what I feel when I’m around you. I want you, Em.” His arms shot in my direction. “My mind knows I don’t stand a chance, but my body doesn’t give a fuck about the odds.”

  My chest depressed as though someone was stepping on it. “You left me in pieces when you disappeared.”

  “I know.” His hand ran through his wet hair as he stared at the floor, his forehead drawn. “You’ll leave me in pieces this time when you leave.”

  “How do you know I’ll leave?”

  “How do you know the sun will rise?” His chest moved with his breath. “Some things are absolute.”

  My fingers rubbed my forehead as I struggled to make sense of what was happening, as I resisted accepting the feelings surging to the surface inside. “We had our chance. It didn’t work.”

  “I’m a big believer in second chances. Kind of an important policy to adopt when you’re as big of a screw-up as I am.” His hands wrapped around the back of his neck. “I want a second chance with the first woman I ever loved.”

  My eyes closed at his confession. Chase always had a way with words—it was why he was such a successful singer/songwriter. He could knit words together in a way that could make a person feel any or every emotion a human being was capable of. Lord knew I was experiencing half a dozen right now.

  Get up and walk away. Nothing is worth feeling that kind of broken again. The warnings kept coming, even as I tasted the words in the back of my mouth. “I can’t give you everything,” I whispered, shifting on the couch.

  He stepped closer. “I’ll take whatever you can.”

  “Six months. No promises. No professions,” I listed, as though my subconscious had been devising this proposal for months.

  “Deal.” Chase didn’t give the air a chance to still before answering.

  “That was too fast,” I said, realizing I should have made the terms more stringent.

  His head tipped at me. “Have you ever met a beggar who refused what was offered?”

  “You’re Chase Lawson. Not a beggar.”

  He moved closer, this time not stopping. “I am where you’re concerned.” He didn’t stop until he was in front of the couch, hovering above me, a glint in his eyes I hadn’t seen in years—the kind that made every part of my body twitch in anticipation.

  “What are you doing?” My words came out sounding breathless.

  “I’ve got six months. I’m not wasting a single day. Not one hour.” His arms circled me, drawing me to him before lifting me from the couch.

  My heart elevated into my throat from feeling him against me, feeling myself against him. “Chase—” My voice broke as he moved in long strides toward his bed. My gaze landed on the clock resting on his dresser. “It’s too late.”

  His face aligned in front of mine. “No,” he said, his lips just touching mine. “It’s not.”

  My skin prickled from the earnestness in his words. “I didn’t realize agreeing to this messed-up proposal would mean falling into bed with you five seconds later.”

  “You’re not in my bed.” His mouth curled up playfully. “Yet.” His arms released, sending me spilling onto the mattress below him.

  “Chase,” I exhaled . . . a warning . . . a welcome.

  “You know I love hearing my name on your lips when we’re in bed.” His fingers traced the shape of my lips, then dragged down the half-open seam.

  “What are we doing?” I asked as his other hand slid up my thigh, slipping inside my shorts, skimming even higher.

  “Making up for the last ten years.” He leaned over me, his eyes lingering above mine.

  A sharp sound escaped from my mouth when he touched me, his finger drawing lazy circles before slowly pushing inside.

  My back arched as my hands curled into fists around his comforter. Wanting Chase in any way should have felt wrong—criminal even—but everything felt right. From the way he was looking at me, to the way he was touching me. It felt right in the kind of way that makes a person question if they’d ever truly been right about anything else before this.

  When his finger could go no farther, he held there, his eyes excited. Then a wide smile stretched into place.

  “Pleased with yourself?” I asked.

  He nodded slowly, his hair raining a few drops of water onto my cheeks. “Good to know your body still reacts to mine the same way mine does to yours.” His finger curled inside me as he pulled out, making my head roll back into the pillow.

  “Maybe I was having a really naughty dream that got me all hot and bothered,” I teased.

  “Or maybe I emerged from the shower all hard and wet and that got you hot and bothered.” His grin took on a wolfish slant as he wiped his finger on the inside of my thigh, proving his point.

  “Are you going to keep congratulating yourself for turning me on?” My eyes challenged him as I leaned up on my elbows. “Or are you going to do something about it?”

  His mouth lowered to my ear. “You were my girl long enough to know the answer to that.”

  Before he finished, his fingers pushed back inside me, finding a rhythm that had my breath coming in uneven pants as my fists grappled for a stronghold in his comforter.

  “I want your hands on me,” he ordered, his breath hot against my neck. “Hit, scratch, stroke, slap, just put them on me.”

  My hands transferred to him, securing into the grooves of his shoulders. As his fingers penetrated me, drawing me dangerously close to the edge, his thumb circled my clit.

  “Don’t close your eyes.”

  I forced them back open, finding his face hanging directly above mine. There was a look on his face, a shadow in his eyes that was almost frightening. It was how Chase made love—with the power of a predator.

  “Look at me when you come,” he husked, the sinews of his neck pressing through his skin as though he were on the cusp of his own climax.

  It hit me hard, without warning. It hit me as though it were breaking me from the shell of the life I’d been living since he’d left. My body froze as the orgasm tore through me, Chase staring at me with rapt fascination, unblinking.

  When it was over, a weak stream of air escaped my lips before I collapsed into his arms, my muscles turning to liquid and my inhibitions to vapor.

  “Six months,” I whispered unevenly.

  His mouth lowered, floating just above my lips. “I’d take six seconds.”

  6

  A convoy of black, gleaming tour buses waited in the front drive by six the next morning. A convoy. It looked like the whole of country music was going on tour at the same time.

  “Isn’t this a lot of buses for one singer?” I rambled to one of the house managers helping load the buses.

  He motioned at the row of luggage lining the walkway. “Not if you’re Chase Lawson.” He rushed off to direct the bus drivers.

  “It’s not like he’s the next messiah,” I muttered.

  “Heard that.” A figure leapt out of the bus front and center. Chase came straight for me, lifting his sunglasses onto his head when he was a few feet away. “And from what you were moaning last night, I must be some kind of god.”

  My mouth opened as I scanned to see if anyone was nearby to have possibly overheard. All clear. “It takes more than fancy finger work to claim divinity. Nice try.”

  “Obviously. I’ve got all kinds of plans to earn that title.” He leaned in, the ends of his hair grazing my cheek. “All. Kinds.”

  “We agreed to be discreet,” I said.

  “As far as everyone knows,
save for a select few, we’re a couple. We don’t need to be discreet about anything.”

  I stepped back, crossing my arms. “True, but maybe we should tone it down when it comes to hinting at past or future sexual feats, encounters, or challenges in a public setting.”

  He closed the space between us. “Maybe we should tone nothing down. Especially in the stated category.”

  “This is all coming too fast.” Another step back. “Slow down.”

  “This has all been a long time coming.” His mouth quirked on one side before he took a deliberate step toward me. “Speed up.”

  A chorus of hoots sounded from down the line of buses. Chase grumbled.

  “Who’s that?” I asked, inspecting the four guys approaching. They were making the kind of noise a person made when their football team made state.

  “The boys in the band.”

  Chase shoved them away when they clustered around him, throwing insults and jabs. I blinked at the five grown men behaving like unruly adolescents.

  The one wearing a Hawaiian shirt unbuttoned with nothing underneath noticed me first. He wrestled away from the cluster, waggling his brows. “Hello, hello. You must be the ex.”

  Chase huffed. “We’re together, moron. How does that make her my ex?”

  “She’s your ex from the past.” Hawaiian shirt guy snapped his fingers. “If you break up again, that will make her your ex-ex-girlfriend.” His face creased for a moment. “Do the exes cancel each other out then? So even if you do break up again, she’s still your girlfriend? Math isn’t my strong suit.”

  Chase emerged from the cluster, grabbing the collar of the guy’s shirt and dragging him away from me a few feet. “Drums aren’t either.”

  The guy covered his chest with his hand, giving Chase a pitiful look. “You wound me.”

  “If I introduce you assholes to her, do you promise to get back to doing whatever it was before you decided to pester us?” Chase sidled up beside me.

  “We can try,” one of them answered.

  “Good enough,” Chase muttered. “Emma, this is Ben, Lane, Sawyer, and Colt,” he said it all in one breath, pointing down the line as he went. “Assholes, this is Emma.”